Lemon Tea
by Dreamboat Kicks
Summary: In an attack on a fort in the Canary Islands, Horatio developes typhoid fever. After docking in Portsmouth, everyone is surprised by the only man who can save him-his father. PG for mild swearing.
1. Startling Developments

**Chapter 1  
Author's note: This is _NOT_ a slash fic. I dislike slash and don't want this story to be taken as one. Any use of the words like' or love' that may end up in the story are purely in the father/son or friend use of the words. Please keep that in mind.**  
  
It was hot. It was unbelievably hot. It was always hot in the Canary Islands, but still.  
Horatio leaned against the railing on the deck and stared listlessly at the men who were busy celebrating his latest victory. It was odd. Listless had never been a word to describe him. And he definitely shouldn't have been listless now, not after having snatched a fort from the Spanish with practically no casualties. But it was just so bloody hot.   
Sir! Ahoy sir!   
Horatio jerked his eyes open, startled. He hadn't realized he'd closed them. He gazed through a wall of heat waves at the figure talking to him and recognized the man immediately as a grinning Styles. He tried to say something, but found that it took an amazing amount of energy to get his mouth to do what his mind wanted.  
he managed finally.  
Yes, sir, Styles said, knuckling his forehead. Cap'n wants ye, sir. And the men wanted me to tell ye they think ye did a good job at the fort, sir.  
He nodded.  
Convey my. . .thanks. My thanks. Convey my thanks to the men, Styles. Why in the world was it hard to talk? Heat had never affected him like that before. And none of the men seemed to be feeling the sweltering weather.  
Sir, are you all right? Styles asked, frowning.   
Of course I'm all right, Styles! he snapped, feeling suddenly and unaccountably angry.  
Yes, sir! Styles exclaimed in alarm. Of course ye are, sir, it's just-  
Just _what?_   
Nothin, sir, Styles said quickly. I'll pass on yer thanks, sir. He took off after a quick salute, glancing back at Hornblower with a fearful look that was not totally alien to the one he'd given him years ago when Horatio had caught him, Oldroyd, Matthews and Finch gambling in the hold.   
As Horatio stared, fuming, at the retreating Styles, a worried curiosity bubbled up underneath his anger. Why had he just lashed out like that? Snapped at an innocent seaman congratulating him? Why so emotional after a tremendous victory?   
He started to shake his head in bewilderment, but decided quickly that that was a bad idea. It produced a throbbing, steady ache that, when combined with the heat, made his stomach churn. Was he sick? That would explain his sensitive state since he had always been more cynical and emotional when ill.   
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he smiled absently. Of course he wasn't sick. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been sick. He was just in an odd mood, that was all. He'd apologize to Styles later, he decided, right after he saw what Pellew wanted.  
He stood up, struggling just a bit, swaying ever so slightly. He lurched down the stairs and took the rest of the distance to the captain's cabin at a run, hoping that he would be safely inside the door before any of the men stopped celebrating. He didn't need them to know that the pitching and rolling of the ship was making him stumble over absolutely nothing.   
In his haste to get inside, he only barely remembered to brush off his uniform and straighten his tie before knocking on Pellew's door.  
Come in, man! Don't stand out there pounding the door in!   
As physically bad as he was feeling at the moment, Horatio couldn't help but grin. Captain Pellew's bellow always made him smile. There was just something about that bellow.  
Yes. . . sir, he choked as he entered the room. The smile vanished immediately from his face. Besides the fact that he abruptly felt as though his stomach had dropped out of his body, it was going to be very hard to seem like anything more than an imbecile when he couldn't even string two words together. Hell.   
Sit down, Mr. Hornblower, Pellew said, glancing up from charts on his desk.  
He gave a quick nod in place of the Yes, sir. that would normally have been his answer to anything Captain Pellew said. Better to conserve his energy for when the talking was absolutely necessary.  
Pellew's gaze, which had begun to drift back to the charts, snagged on the nod. He frowned disapprovingly but let it pass.  
_Thank you, sir, _Horatio thought. _I meant no disrespect, sir. _  
It seems we may have to elevate your lieutenant number, Mr. Hornblower. It's not often that the men still celebrate after a three-day march in Canary terrain.  
He tried, desperately, to work up some enthusiasm at this announcement, but it was impossible.   
Thank you, sir, he rasped.  
Indeed, Mr. Hornblower. Now if you would give me a report on the battle?  
he asked in a whisper. Suddenly exhausted, his eyes drifted shut.   
_Oh no, _he thought, panicking. _No. Don't. Fall. Asleep. _  
Mr. Hornblower?  
But sleep was starting to seem like an excellent idea. You couldn't feel sick when you were asleep. You couldn't feel a headache. You couldn't feel anything. Why not go to sleep, really?  
Mr. Hornblower! There was a rustle of papers, the sound of feet on the floor. And then a hand, blessedly cool, was laid on his cheek.  
My God, you're burning up with fever!  
he muttered. For the second time that day, an idea dawned on him. Sir, am I - am I sick?  
Yes. Yes, Mr. Hornblower, you're sick. Extremely sick, I'm afraid. 

* * *


	2. Archie

**Chapter 2  
**But why? Archie Kennedy asked Styles in confusion.   
I've no idea, sir. I was hopin' you could tell me. You do believe me, don't ye? he asked anxiously.   
Well, I certainly don't _dis_believe you, Styles, but it's just not like him. He hardly ever yells, unless he's angry, and he doesn't usually _get_ angry, especially at a man he likes. And he _does_ like you. He thinks you're a friend, not just one of the men.  
Styles said glumly. Which is why I specially don't like gettin' im angry. I think he's a friend, too, Mr.Ornblower. You too, sir. Don't want either of ye mad at me, sir. He traced a pattern in the table between them absentmindedly.  
Archie smiled. I'm not mad at you, Styles. But-I was _there. _I stormed the wall right with you. I saw the entire thing happen and no one, especially not you, did anything that could have made him angry. That's what I don't understand.   
Styles shrugged expansively and a silence stretched between them. It was broken by Archie who murmured, more to himself than to Styles:  
Unless he was already upset about something else.   
And took it out on me, sir? Styles asked in a slightly comforted voice.  
Yes. And you know what that means, don't you Styles? he asked, standing up.  
What, sir?  
It means I've got to go badger him until he tells me what the matter is.  
Styles grinned and actually started a fit of coughing which sounded strangely like laughing to Archie. A smile was starting to creep it's way across his face as well, when he made a startled jump as the door to the mess room banged open and a very scared looking Pellew practically fell through the doorway.   
Styles exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. All trace of merriment had fled from his features.   
Pellew gasped, collapsing onto a table. Mr. Kennedy.   
Sir! What's the matter, sir? Styles entreated, mirroring Archie's alarm.  
Captain Pellew started, but held up a hand and drew severely deep breaths, clutching a stitch in his side.   
Not Horatio. It wasn't a question. Archie was sure it wasn't a question, but his voice tinged with nervousness.   
Pellew straightened and looked him squarely in the eye and Archie's stomach clenched.   
What appened sir? Styles asked dully.  
I'm not sure, Styles. All I know is that Mr. Hornblower- he looked down at the table and in the moment it took for him to collect himself, it crossed Archie's mind that he had never seen the captain so moved or rattled before. The knowledge did nothing to ease the worry building in his mind. All I know is that Mr. Hornblower is very sick. He has a high fever and is asleep in my cabin. I'd like one of you to go tell Doctor Hepplewhite to have a bed made up and I'll need the other to help me take him down to the sick berth.  
I'll tell the doctor, sir, Styles said, sprinting for the door.  
When the door had slammed shut behind Styles, Archie and Captain Pellew studied each other.   
How sick is he? Archie asked in what was almost a whisper. Whenever Horatio was up and about and doing heroic things left and right, Archie always had a subconscious wish that he would get wounded or become ill or something. Not seriously, of course, just enough so that he could help him and not feel like dead weight for once. But on the rare occasions when Horatio wasn't in total control, he hated it and had a profound feeling of. . . well, of _wrongness_, really. As though something was happening that never should have happened. That was the only way he could think of to describe it.  
Like I said before, I don't know, Mr. Kennedy. But we're not doing him any good sitting here _jabbering like a bunch of schoolgirls _are we, sir? he thundered.   
No, sir.  
Almost as soon as he said it, the mess room was empty and the door was swinging on its hinges.


	3. Dr. Hepplewhite

**Chapter 3  
**The sick berth had never seemed so crowded to Hepplewhite, even when it was full of bleeding, moaning, and often limbless patients. Good lord, what was so special about the man? He was a good officer, to be sure, judging from the conversations he'd overheard about the man. But he guessed that some of the men he'd treated, or pronounced dead, had been good seaman. Or maybe not. He didn't know. He didn't even know the seamen's names for the most part and he didn't want to know. As soon as something had a name, it became important to you. You started to care about it. And if you were a ship's surgeon, you couldn't care about the men. Too often they ended up dead. Caring about them would drive you nearly mad. He'd seen it happen to other ship's doctors.   
Well, doctor, what's the word? Mr. Bracegirdle asked impatiently, jolting Hepplewhite out of his thoughts and interrupting his examination. He glanced up in annoyance at the sea of expectant faces. Hether, Cleveland, Kennedy, the captain, and even three of the men, slightly more senior than rest, were staring, watching his every move.  
When I am finished, Mr. Bracegirdle, I will tell you, he said, not quite managing to hide his irritation.   
Well he'd better finish it quick-like, Hether muttered from the back. His narrow face was drawn and worried.   
on of the seaman added darkly. Want to know what's wrong wi' Mr. Ornblower, we does.   
The more you talk, gentlemen, the longer this will take! he cried. So if you want to know as badly as it appears you do, I would humbly suggest that you be quiet unless I ask you a question. He prodded Hornblower's side and stomach as he spoke and then felt his face his face again.  
The doctor's right, Pellew said, sounding almost apologetic.  
But, sir!   
I do have the authority to send you back on deck, Oldroyd, and don't forget it.  
Did you eat anything? Hepplewhite barked, interrupting them.  
Cleveland asked.  
Did you eat anything on the island?   
We didn't eat anything, Hether said. But some of us drank some water from a stream there.   
The doctor was completely devoid of emotion as he spoke.  
There was a silence, more inquisitive than stunned. It hadn't sunk in with them yet.  
Excuse me, doctor? Pellew asked, in a dangerously soft voice.  
The man has Typhoid Fever, captain. An often fatal disease that makes its home in the water and plants in subtropical climates.  
Now the silence had the proper stunned quality as the men digested the information.  
Is he - going to die? Kennedy asked.   
Hepplewhite looked up at the ceiling hopelessly.  
'Often fatal', Mr. Kennedy. Yes. Unless fate, luck, or the Good Lord decide to step in, Mr. Hornblower will die. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get some leeches.  
And he disappeared into a back room, totally unaware of the horror-struck faces gaping at him speechlessly.


	4. Waiting

**Chapter 4  
** Well, Mr. Kennedy?  
Archie shrugged hopelessly.  
No change, sir. He's been sound asleep for the last three days.   
Very well. Everything about the captain from the way he sat to the expression on his face as he stared down at Hornblower spoke worry.  
We wait, Mr. Kennedy.  
Yes, but what are we damn well waiting for? Archie whispered. Then his head jerked up in panic as he realized what he'd said, but to his surprise, Captain Pellew did not seem angry.  
I'm not sure, Mr. Kennedy. I know we are all praying that he will get better. I know we all think he will get better despite what Hepplewhite said, but as for what we're waiting for, I don't know.   
Maybe we just want him to _do _something.  
The Captain studied him for a moment.   
he said, is entirely possible. After all, when does a man normally stay exactly the same day after day? He paused. But I am sorry to say that we cannot wait idly. He got up from the hammock he'd been sitting on. Unfortunately, I think we'd both better get on deck.  
Yes, sir. Archie got up from his own hammock as he spoke and as he did so, his gaze fell on the stairs behind Pellew. The start he gave was barely perceptible, but Pellew whirled around.  
Sorry, sir, Matthews said, looking as guilty as Archie had ever seen him. He knuckled his forehead and lit off up the stairs.   
Pellew turned around and there was a deep sadness in his every feature.   
  
I'm not going to throw you all to the wolves, you know.  
He studied the floorboards.   
  
It's not your fault, Mr. Kennedy. And he trudged up the stairs looking very, very old to Archie.


	5. Change

**Chapter 5  
** Two weeks later, everything seemed to happen at once. This was especially startling since, for nearly three weeks, nothing had happened at all. The first major event was that the _Indefagitable _docked at Portsmouth and everyone aboard was granted a two week leave. The other was that Horatio's fever took a turn for the worse.   
  
* * *  
  
Captain Pellew sighed as he looked at the men in the darkened sick room. Kennedy's eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and he looked as though he were about to drift off. Matthews was asleep sitting up, his chin to his chest, rocking back and forth with the motion of the ship. Oldroyd's head had fallen on Matthews' shoulder and he was snoring lustily, mouth open. Styles was awake but didn't look much better than Kennedy. Pellew had tried to get them to take advantage of their leave, but it hadn't worked. He'd given up in lack of a good argument; he himself hadn't left the ship since it was docked.  
e's not gettin' better, Styles muttered.   
Kennedy agreed in a sleepy murmur.  
He hasn't gotten worse either, gentlemen. We can thank the Lord for that. Alarmed at how exhausted he sounded, he didn't even question it when his eyes began to close.   
  
* * *  
  
At first, he wasn't sure what woke him. Then someone shook him viperously. He ignored it, hoping foolishly that it would go away.  
the someone hissed. Cap'n Pellew, sir!   
he asked, not entirely awake.   
Yes, sir. Ye've got to wake up, sir!   
Styles, what- and then he heard it. A violent tossing and turning coupled with a low moan.  
  
Horatio, listen! Everything's fine. Whatever you're seeing, it's just your imagination.   
Pellew sat bolt upright. It was pitch black in the room, except for the light of a few lanterns. Matthews and Oldroyd were still asleep. Hornblower was sitting up in his hammock, eyes wide open, staring at something only he could see while Kennedy tried desperately to reason with him.   
It's all right, Horatio! Please trust me. It's not there.  
She's sitting right in front of me! he yelled hysterically, a tear spilling down his cheek. Do you think I don't know her?!  
Oldroyd asked bleary, woken by Hornblower's shouting. Matthews also blinked himself awake as Styles sat back and stared in shock, stunned at seeing his hero crying.   
The captain practically fell out of his hammock as he rushed to Hornblower's side and grabbed his shoulder.  
Mr. Hornblower! he cried, but the boy jerked away violently, a terrified look in his vacant eyes.  
What's goin' on? Matthews asked.  
E's delirious, Matty, now shut up, Styles said gruffly.  
Pellew looked helplessly at Kennedy.  
It's all right, sir. I think you startled him, that's all. Do you want me to ask him something, sir?  
Ask-ask him?  
Yes, sir. Every once in a while you can hear things when you're out of your mind. He shoved Hornblower down in his hammock as he spoke.   
Pellew winced. Kennedy talked as though being completely delirious was nothing out of the ordinary. He resolved then and there never to think less of a man who had an occasional fit and although he never knew it, at that moment Kennedy was forgiven for every mistake and misadventure.  
Well, then-ask him who he's seeing.  
Yes, sir. Hornblower continued his horrible tossing while Kennedy very gently reached out and touched the same shoulder Pellew had. he said softly. Pellew held his breath as Hornblower's tossing abated slightly. Horatio listen. The boy went still.  
Horatio, we're going to make you better. Hammocks rustled as Styles, Oldroyd, and Matthews leaned forward, watching intently. But, Horatio, before we can make you better, we need to know who you're seeing.  
  
Kennedy's expression was layered with curiosity, expectation, curiosity, concern, and more curiosity. Horatio, we need to know. Who are you-  
Whatever answer Pellew (or, for that matter, anyone else) had been expecting, it was not the answer they got.   
Horatio muttered, in a voice thick with emotion. I see Mama.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Enter Doctor Hornblower

**Chapter 6**   
Kennedy landed on the street with a grunt, his feet slipping in the ugly mixture of slime and mid-March slush. He got up, swearing profusely, and more disoriented than ever. He glanced around the busy streets hopelessly, at once trying not to get robbed by thieves, run over by carriages, and trying to remember where Horatio's house was. Exhausted from literally hours of running, seemingly in circles, around the streets of Portsmouth, he leaned back against the brick wall of the Pirate's Cave tavern and closed his eyes. As he took several deep breathes, he remembered last night's conversation with the captain as well as the ghastly look on Pellews face.  
_Mama. I see Mama.   
Pellew's eyes met his, perfect white circles around the irises. He thought the captain looked as scared as he felt. Not once in their long years of friendship, had Horatio ever called his mother Mama. On the rare occasions that he mentioned her at all, it was Mother. Or my mother.'_   
_ Pellew rasped.   
I don't-I don't know,sir. At that point, he was beyond caring that Matthews, Styles, and Oldroyd were hanging on his every word, while doing an incredibly poor job of pretending they were not. She died, that's all he's ever told me.   
Horatio shrieked again. Mama, talk to me. Don't ignore me! Matthews reached over and tried to calm his flailing.   
Easy, sir, easy. Gonna be all right, et is. Frettin' bout it don't help none. Don't recommend it, frettin' , if ye ask me, Matthews said.  
Oh, God! Pellew yelled. Why, oh, why do always get stuck with the most bloody awful ships' surgeons in the profession? At the very least, it would be nice to have one who didn't disappear to get drunk somewhere even though he had a patient who he claims is at death's door!  
He'd asked after Pellew had finished his mini tirade.  
Yes, what is it?  
Horatio's father lives in Porsmouth, sir.   
What the hell has that got to do with anything?   
_ And that, Archie now reflected, had led to what had to be the strangest part of the evening. Even now, he couldn't figure it out. _What the hell has that got to do with anything?_  
What was even stranger than the question-_shouldn't_, he remembered thinking incredulously,_ Pellew have barked an order at him to go let Horatio Sr. know that his son was ill?_ was Pellew's whole demeanor after he'd answered.   
_Well, sir, you see-well, Hora-I mean, Mr. Hornblower's father's a doctor, quite a good one. I met him last Christmas, sir, he knows what he's doing.   
Incredibly, a pained look crossed Pellew's face, but it was gone so quickly that maybe he'd imagined it. Of course he'd imagined it. What would-  
Mr. Hornblower's father's a doctor? Pellew had asked gruffly, face now turned away from him.  
Yes, sir.   
A sigh escaped the captain's mouth as he said Well, you'd best go get him, then, Kennedy, if you remember where he lives. I despise a man who won't keep a promise, and we promised Hornblower we'd make him well. With a bitter laugh, he said And Hepplewhite certainly isn't helping.  
Yes, sir.  
At this point, it wasn't just Archie who was eying Captain Pellew with more than a little curiosity.  
WELL, DON'T JUST SIT THERE, FOR GOD'S SAKE, GO GET HIS FATHER!   
Captain Pellew's voice was still ringing in his ears long after the door had slammed behind him._  
  
Startled by the use of his first name, Archie's eyes snapped open. A near-exact copy of Horatio, albeit several decades older was staring at him from the window of a carriage that had stopped in the middle of the street.   
Mr. Hornblower, sir!  
Indeed. And what, pray tell, are you doing in Portsmouth Archie?  
Well, sir- How was he going to do this? He'd never thought about actually breaking the news to Horatio's father before.  
Archie, what's wrong? A frown crossed Hornblower Sr.'s face.  
Bloody hell.  
Sir, it's Horatio.   
What's wrong with him? Mr. Hornblower asked in alarm.  
Well, sir, it's a bit complicated, but to make a long story short we were in the Canary Islands, we drank some water, Horatio's got typhoid-  
The door of the carriage banged open.   
Get in, the doctor said bluntly. No boy of mine is dying because of a fever and no-good ships' surgeon. 


	7. Captain Pellew

**Chapter 7  
** Pellew stared down at the now-sleeping Hornblower. He was alone in the room now. Matthews, Styles, and Oldroyd, seemingly satisfied that something was, at last, being done, had decided to go to their usual hammocks to spend the rest of the night.   
_Not that we don't care bout Mr.Ornblower, sir, et's nicer to lie down an' all, Matthews said.   
_The explanation, Pellew reflected, had been completely unnecessary, yet strangely comforting all the same. He wondered why. He also wondered why he had lashed out Kennedy that way.   
_Horatio's father lives in Portsmouth, sir.  
What the hell has that got to do with anything?  
Kennedy just looked at him, shell -shocked and startled. Then he glanced about the room as though some ugly, prehistoric predator were about to pounce at him and then began to babble out of nothing more than nervousness.   
Well, sir, you see-well, Hora-I mean, Mr. Hornblower's father's a doctor, sir, quite a good one. I met him last Christmas, sir, he knows what he's doing.  
_Pellew cringed as he remembered the stammer in Kennedy's voice. He'd wanted to kick himself for making Kennedy so nervous and then he'd gone on to yell at him some more. It was just-he shook his head and laid a hand on Hornblower's forehead and gently brushed the boy's sticky curls out of the way.  
It's just it's so much easier to pretend that I'm your father when I don't have to think about the one you already have, he said quietly. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Don't-don't die on me, boy. Your incredibly hot and mostly likely exhausted, but please don't give up. You've got everything to live for, you know that don't you? And-and you're son to me. You really are even though I'm not _really _your father. Just don't give up, he ended in a whisper, touching Hornblower's hot cheek with the back of his hand.. Whatever you do, Hornblower, _don't _give up. 


	8. Lemon Tea

Chapter 8  
  
Author's Note: This update would not have been possible without the help of my wonderful beta-reader, CottageGhost.  
  
Pellew felt Mr. Bracegridle shift slightly behind him, no doubt so that he would be able to get a better look at the man who had just stepped on to the deck before them without openly staring. It was a courtesy most of the men on deck were ignoring. He was quite willing to forgive them, however, because Hornblower's father was so identical to his son that a very small part of Pellew felt sure that Hornblower was not ill at all and that time had merely fast-forwarded two or three decades. He was staring at Hornblower's image in 30 years, and it did little ease his discomfort at being in the presence of the man whose place he hoped he had been occupying in the young Hornblower's mind.  
  
Kennedy's voice broke the stillness. "Doctor, meet Captain Pellew. Captain Pellew, sir, meet - "  
  
"Mr. Hornblower," Pellew said, as he offered his hand.  
  
"Captain," he answered, and as he clasped Pellew's fingers, something like a smile flickered across his face. "And please - call me Doctor. Everyone does." There was a moment's pause. "My boy - Horatio - I suppose he - "  
  
"Down below," Pellew said brusquely as he turned and led the way down the stairs. He swallowed painfully as he held the swinging door so that the doctor, and Mr. Kennedy could pass through. This was mortifying. As the boy he'd come to regard as his own son lay dying down below, he'd been exchanging pleasantries on deck with his true father. As Mr. Bracegirdle walked through the doorway, he sought Pellew's eyes with his own in a sympathetic glance. While the relationship between captain and lieutenant was apparent to anyone who cared to look, it was with Mr. Bracegridle alone that Pellew had felt comfortable openly gloating about Hornblower's successes and confessing his terror of Captain Foster's influence, during the brief time that Hornblower appeared to have switched loyalties to his archrival.  
  
Pellew let the door swing shut gently as he darted through to follow the others. As the group passed into the sick room, he hoped desperately that Mr. Bracegirdle understood just how grateful he was to him at that moment. He had needed someone else to understand the true awkwardness of the situation.  
  
"Over there, sir," Kennedy spoke up again. "There, in the middle. With Matthews.  
  
And Styles and Oldroyd." The three men looked up at the sound of their names, and as the group slid in around the hammock, Kennedy made another round of introductions.  
  
"Styles, Matthews, Oldroyed - Doctor Hornblower."  
  
"Spittin' image," Oldroyd said in a very audible whisper. "Bloody spi - " Styles elbowed him roughly, though his saucer eyes made him hardly less conspicuous. Matthews gave the barest start, but otherwise showed nothing.  
  
Doctor Hornblower sat down gingerly on one of the empty hammocks nearest the bed. He gently pressed down on the canvas of Hornblower's hammock so that the boy rocked slightly towards him.  
  
"Dead to the world." It was a moment before the captain realized that he had spoken the words aloud. The doctor peered at him.  
  
"How long has he been like this?" he asked, his face pinched with worry.  
  
"Over two weeks, Doctor. Since he got back from the Canary Islands."  
  
"Two weeks," the man muttered, turning back to Horatio. "Two weeks. Two weeks." He smoothed out Hornblower's curls as he spoke. Pellew's throat tightened, the memory of his own hand there in the fore-front of his mind.  
  
"What does two weeks mean, Doctor?" Mr. Bracegridle spoke up from behind Pellew.  
  
"It means," he said, slowly "that Horatio - "there was a long pause, as the doctor collected himself. "It means, sir, that statistically speaking, Horatio ought to have died ten days ago."  
  
Pellew grappled with his thoughts as everyone around him jumped. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful or enraged at Hepplewhite for neglecting to tell him the information. "Often fatal' was not a nearly adequate description of a disease that typically killed within ninety-four hours.  
  
"Would lemon tea be a possibility, sir?"  
  
"What?" he asked, startled out of his thoughts.  
  
"Could your ship's cook make us a cup of lemon tea?"  
  
"Lemon. . .tea?" The mathematics the doctor had spelled out terrified him.  
  
"Yes, sir. Tea. One cup. Both the Chinese and Indian varieties are acceptable. Half a lemon, no sugar."  
  
"Mr. Bracegirdle?" Pellew asked weakly.  
  
"Yes, sir. I'll see to it."  
  
"Thank you, sir. And give my compliments to the cook," he added as an afterthought.  
  
The doctor watched Mr.Bracegirdle exit with an indiscernible expression. One hand rested on Hornblower's shoulder, rocking him as if by instinct.  
  
"In the meantime, leaches," he said finally. There was a resigned tone in Doctor Hornblower's voice that very different from Hepplewhite.  
  
"Ye don't like leaches then, Sir?" Matthews asked curiously.  
  
"No. As a matter of fact, I disagree with their use vociferously. The theory is there but it's not entirely clear what the creatures accomplish."  
  
"But you still use them," Pellew pointed out.  
  
"They've been used for centuries," the doctor said with a sigh. "They certainly aren't deadly. And the same cannot be said for some of the new alternatives. Given the choice, I'd rather use them than surrender to each new medical fad as too many of my counterparts seem bent on doing." He unbuttoned Hornblower's shirt as he spoke, then slid it off entirely. The young man convulsed as the cold air of the cabin touched his glistening body.  
  
"Help me hold him, would you, Sir?" he asked, directing his question at Pellew. "I'm not sure how long he's been unconscious and I don't care how many battles he's fought, waking up to me holding a leach over his head isn't going to be pleasant." Pellew hurried to oblige, laying one hand gently on Hornblower's shoulders as the doctor opened a jar of the black worms.  
  
"Could find me the surgeon's tools, Mr. . .?"  
  
"Matthews, sir. And yes, sir, et 'il be just a minute," Matthews answered. He returned in a few moments with the white roll of canvas and handed it to the doctor who rolled it out on the table. He sorted easily through the mess of scissors and blades until he finally picked up a remarkably tiny knife.  
  
Pellew's grip on Hornblower's shoulders tightened as the doctor pressed his hand onto Hornblower's chest just above the rib and began to make a small incision with the knife. Hornblower jerked slightly. His lips a grim line, the doctor cut more deeply. Horatio gasped and his eyes snapped open.  
  
"Captain -- Pellew?" His voice was hoarse and frightened but it was Hornblower's voice nonetheless and hearing it after two weeks of raving and silences was the proverbial music to Pellew's ears.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Hornblower." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Matthews put his arm on Styles's shoulder to stop him from physically leaping on his injured leader.  
  
"Sir --" Horatio tensed as his father made another cut just above the first one. "Sir -- what's --?"  
  
"Leaches," Pellew answered gently. "That's all, Mr. Hornblower. Your father's using leaches. And there's tea coming." 


End file.
